We are all born into this world crying and screaming and probably wishing we were back safely inside the warm nurturing bodies of our mothers.
Time passes and we are taught that we need to find our places, our vocations, our raison d'etre, but one reoccurring experience in my life makes me wonder if that is truly the point of being.
Of course I do not remember being born, or letting go of my mother, but I do remember moving away from my first friends, July and Paul, close to my fifth birthday. We moved in with my grandmother while my dad was in Germany with his father for six weeks and I missed my daddy, even though he called me from that strange place far across a lake I couldn't walk around.
Throughout the rest of my childhood and teen years I would leave schools, neighborhoods and friends behind, always missing them, but adjusting, because I always had our family.
When I was married I left my entire family to move across the country with my husband who was in the army. Years later both my mother and father would precede me in death. Letting go of them was hard.
We had three children who grew up and moved away from home and once more I missed them dearly. Then my husband wanted a divorce and I left him.
Since then I have had many friends and lived in several places, eventually leaving them all to move on. Soon I will leave this place too. I've been here seven years, one of the longest times I've ever lived in one place at one time, but I've lived in this town since 1971 with the exception of a few years here and there. That's over fifty years in one place!
I am having interesting dreams as I prepare for this move. I feel it may be my last, but more importantly I am realizing that maybe what I am supposed to learn about life is letting go. Letting go of everything that is not essential is a journey much more complicated than giving up possessions.
And yet it will free me up to be like the light and the wind where I will experience everything in a brand new way.
No comments:
Post a Comment